TL - Dinner and a Show
by kyoiku kanji
Summary: Cougar was against taking the assignment until he learned that things weren't always what they seemed, and he wasn't there to assasinate a former Marine Major, but to save him.


****Dinner and a Show****

Cougar looked at the manila folder he'd been handed and began scanning through the profile. He knew something was up when there was no picture attached to the outside of the folder. That was not standard procedure. Then again, this wasn't a standard assignment.

It wasn't all that common for him to be assigned a solo mission, but it wasn't all that uncommon either. What was uncommon was the fact that the assignment would take him to New York City, and the target was a police officer.

Not just any police officer either, no, the target was a retired, decorated Marine Major, now head of the NYPD Crime Lab. He started to shake his head and hand the folder back when the intelligence officer held up a finger.

"I will not kill this man," Cougar stated, his posture indicating that there was nothing the officer could say that would change his mind. This assignment was not a truly military op, and therefore he was allowed some leeway when it came to accepting the mission. This was not something he wanted to do, ever.

"I'm not asking you to. He is the target of an assassin, who we believe has already claimed the lives of three judges and quite possibly several key political figures over the past five years. That man is your target."

"What do you know about him?"

"Other than his current target, nothing. The man is a ghost."

"And I am to be your ghost hunter?"

"That you are."

"I will need Jensen as my spotter."

"Done."

"And you will let this man know that he has been targeted."

"Of course."

Cougar could tell by the man's body language that he was lying, and when he didn't offer any resistance, the sniper felt somehow insulted. Still, it was a formality, nothing else. With Jensen acting as his spotter, he had more than enough means of warning the police detective.

One look at the intelligence officer and he smirked slightly. The man knew he would make sure the target was warned and when he saw Cougar had realized that, he returned the smile. His 'lie' had been a formality, nothing more. If anything went wrong, it would be on whoever had warned the target.

TLTLTLTL

"So," Jensen said as he shuffled through the pile of books on his lap, which included: 'Not for Tourists (NFT) Guide to New York City', 'Cheap Bastard's Guide to New York City' and 'Off the Beaten (Subway) Track'. "There are a couple of Off-Broadway productions that sound promising. There's also a new restaurant in Chinatown I'm dying to try, and..."

One look at the raised eyebrow Cougar was giving him and he let the sentence trial off.

"What?"

"Why are we driving to New York?"

"Counter sniper mission," Jensen answered in a resigned tone.

"Do you think this sniper we are seeking will be going to an 'Off-Broadway' production?"

"Probably not," he answered sadly, then cheered up. "But you never know..."

When Cougar simply sighed and focused on the road again, Jensen felt like he'd somehow disappointed Cougar when all he wanted to do was lighten the mood.

The city was everything Cougar hated and Jensen loved: a crowded cacophony of sounds, smells and colors that threatened to over stimulate the senses.

One look at Jensen and the way the man practically vibrated from the thrill of it had Cougar cringing. There was no way Jensen was going to be able to act as spotter until he got the charge out of his system.

When they checked into their hotel, Cougar handed Jensen a key and told him, "06:00, we begin."

How Jensen interpreted that was his business. Cougar had work to do.

TLTLTLTL

Cougar spent his first few hours in the city getting a feel for the lay of the land, or in this case the lay of the streets. He had a week's worth of research he needed to do and less than twelve hours to do it. Pictures and street maps were one thing, but until you had walked the streets of a city, until you could feel how the winds changed as they were channeled between buildings, you could not know the terrain.

In order to do his job, he would need to know the city. He needed to feel it's pulse, get its dirt under his finger nails and breathe in the... smog.

He forced himself to focus on the job, and ignore the aspects of the city that bothered him. He tuned out the over abundance of sound, letting it slip into the background. He couldn't afford to let it overpower him.

He was a sniper and this mission called for a sniper. In order to catch the assassin he would need to go through everything he would go through if one Detective Mac Taylor were his target. Once he knew the man, his habits and environment, he would know the most likely places where the assassin would lay in wait. Then it was just a matter of finding places that would give him a clean shot on as many of those places as possible, and waiting.

TLTLTLTL

Jensen would not only need to act as spotter, he would also need to get the NYPD's air: tactical and encrypted frequencies so they could track the detective.

Cougar shook his head when he saw the results of Jensen's 'scouting mission: a 'Mets baseball cap, an 'I Heart NYC' bumper sticker (ostensibly for his rifle case); a t-shirt that said "New York, New York. A place so nice they named it twice"; a pair of folding binoculars, also emblazoned with the Mets' logo that boasted 3x magnification; a Mets windbreaker and a pair of converse cons from a secondhand store.

When he frowned at Jensen, the man merely smiled and explained, "it's for blending in, after the fact."

There were times Cougar wondered went on inside Jensen's head, sometimes, he realized, it was better not to know.

Jensen had purchased the necessary radio equipment and parts that, when coupled with his computer system, would provide them with Detective Mac Taylor's radio frequency and communications.

"Have you warned him?"

"No," Jensen answered drawing it out. "Not exactly."

When Cougar turned towards his spotter, Jensen smiled. "I didn't want to chance Mr. Ghost noticing... so I got a message to another detective that works with him. It'll be fine, trust me."

That phrase, uttered by Jensen, sent shivers up Cougar's spine. The only problem was, he did trust Jensen. He trusted Jensen to do his job, he just never knew exactly how Jensen would do it. His methods were almost always creative, and rarely failed, but, again, sometimes it was safer not knowing.

Cougar simply nodded.

TLTLTLTL

Don Flack walked into the station and grabbed a cup of coffee before settling down at his desk and getting to work on the stack of paperwork waiting for him. Once the standard paperwork was finished, he tackled the reports he'd begun last night.

He knew they'd need to be reviewed before submitting them. It was late when he finished them and he'd learned a long time ago that what sounded good at 3 A.M. rarely sounded good at 8 A.M.

The reports filed, he flipped through his e-mails marveling at the technological battle ground that was his inbox. Anti-virus software and spam filters waged war against people vying for the chance to take over or destroy his computer or to find him a Russian bride who would help him stop smoking and allow him to give her what she really wants.

He deleted emails from Inga, Sergei and the great grandson of a deposed Honduran General without a second thought only to pause when he found one sent, supposedly, from his personal account to himself.

He opened it, unsure what it would bring and frowned as he read.

__A ghost stalks the land, dealing death well in hand__  
>Beware his reach, the friends he seeks<br>He watches, he listens, he knows and he hears  
>Keep your friends close, and the Major closer<br>the days are hard and the nights are long.  
>a vest would be a really good idea.<p>

__I know, it's not my best work, but hey... someone has to warn you and let you know it's a warning and not a threat. Threats usually don't involve poetry unless it's pasted together using cutouts from magazines, but I'm not sure that analogy works with emails. Anyway, ghosts fear the feral and we've got it in spades. Just watch out, and warn the Major, okay?__

__This message will self destruct in twenty seconds. Not really, but a good CTRLDEL would do the trick. Don't want to risk having sneaky sneaks seeing this and knowing you've been warned. It's easier to hunt the hunter when he doesn't know he's being hunted.__

It was either the strangest attempt to get his attention, or something was seriously wrong: probably a bit of both. His hand hovered over the delete key, then froze, knowing that the lab would be able to tell him more about the sender. After a few minutes he shut his computer off and headed upstairs, figuring he'd have one of the techs go over it to see who was posing as him.

TLTLTLTL

Flack was beginning to jump at shadows, only he knew they weren't 'just shadows.'

It felt more like when he was in school and they were playing ball, when the visiting team would hit a long fly ball to center field and it would disappear into the sun. He knew the ball was coming down, he could feel it even if he couldn't see it and he knew he'd have to hustle if he wanted to catch it before it hit the ground.

Only this wasn't a game, and he wasn't trying to stop a runner from getting on base: he was trying to keep Mac Taylor alive.

Computer forensics has traced the originating IP to Flack's apartment building, the only thing they could determine was that it had been carefully routed bounced around the globe until any trace of its origins had been lost.

On a whim he'd replied to the message. Deleting the original text, he asked, "__Sneaky sneaks__?"

He didn't know if he felt vindicated or more nervous when he got a reply: "__Exactly. They're the worst__."

He stared at it for a good twenty minutes and still hadn't gotten any closer to figuring out who he was talking to.

He did know he didn't like the fact that Mac had taken the warning with a raised eyebrow and a shrug. He'd tried to get Mac to take it more seriously, only to realize that he had taken it deadly seriously.

"Don, from the sound of things, either someone's setting me up, or they're protecting me. We'll get this guy."

Don just wasn't sure which 'guy' they'd get and he didn't like the idea of the 'guy' getting Mac first.

TLTLTLTL

Cougar remained placid and calm. Patience was the tool of his trade, only this time he wasn't working on dealing with a known target. This time he was hunting another hunter and that got tricky. He had to find the shooter before he was able to take his shot, take him out and leave without a trace.

Intellectually, Cougar knew that the intelligence officer didn't care if he managed to prevent the hit, but he wanted it to work that way. The target was a retired Marine, and that counted for something. It was almost ingrained: protect the soldiers.

Jensen, bless him, had done his best to remain sedentary, but it really wasn't in him. Unable to pace, or gyrate as he spoke, he settled for talking a mile a minute about anything and everything that caught his fancy.

After listening for a moment Cougar realized that the current topic was field mice, or field glasses... possibly mice with field glasses. One never knew with Jensen.

The target was on his third crime scene of the day when Cougar spotted movement.

"Two buildings down," he said, getting Jensen's attention. It wasn't hard, when they were working together . Jensen's voice became almost a white noise generator with its constant pattern of random topics, however when Cougar spoke, Jensen knew it was serious.

"Fifteenth floor, " he said quietly as he sighted in on the barrel, and finally the silhouette of a man.

"Got him," Jensen answered, getting the wind adjustments and relaying the required information to Cougar.

He saw the barrel move slightly as the shooter tracked his target. A glance to the left told him what he needed to know. There was no doubt in Cougar's mind that this was the assassin and Mac Taylor was his target. With Jensen's calculations, he took the shot, and gave a satisfied smile.

As he donned the Mets paraphernalia, Jensen began regaling him with facts about the Mets until he finally shook his head and they slipped into the elevator.

The only trace of their passing: a couple of Mets fans on their way to a game.

TLTLTLTL

Don watched as the ME checked the liver temp of their latest victim. 'Victim' being an optional term, considering the fact that he'd broken into the apartment and was surrounded by all the trappings and accoutrements of a sniper on the job: dark , nondescript clothing and nothing that would identify him.

It was obvious someone had been watching for him, judging by the fact that he had died from a single, high powered rifle shot and no one else had died.

The ME put the time of death somewhere between 11:00 A.M. and 1:00 P.M.. Flack looked at his notes, then flipped back realizing that three hours ago, between that time, He and Mac had been overseeing an apparent suicide just down the block.

He felt a slight chill go through him and when the crime scene technician used lasers to help determine the angle of the killing shot, he had the distinct impression that he didn't want to find this man's killer, except maybe to pin a medal on him.

As they moved from the primary crime scene to the general location of the would be shooter's shooter, it became clear he was never going to find the man unless he wanted to be found.

The only information he had was a security feed of a couple of Mets fans leaving the building.

TLTLTLTlL

Cougar tried to sink lower into his seat as Jensen began singing along with the cast of his Off-Broadway show.

He had wanted to leave as soon as the job was done, but Jensen had talked him into sticking around for a few days, 'just to make sure.' Besides, Cougar admitted, he owed Jensen that much, and there was that restaurant in Chinatown to check out.

TLTLTLTL

A week later, when nothing else had come of his investigation into the dead sniper, and the lack of anyone shooting at Mac, Flack once again replied to the email.

__"Is that it?"__

When the reply came he had to laugh: "__What did you expect? Dinner and a show__?"


End file.
